Scars
by Kitake Neru
Summary: [Set postSoul Society Arc, some spoilers] It's never easy to stop a bleeding wound. With a heavy heart, Soul Society collects its shattered remains...
1. Chapter 1 Falling Petal

For some reason, I felt compelled to write something heavy. I don't know what came over me, and whether the characters are OOC but if they are then please forgive me. I am but a mere dreamer

Disclaimer: Bleach doesn't belong to me. Set post-Soul Society arc.

For a few days he saw very little of her. Most of her time was spent inside the vast Kuchiki mansion and he was busy sorting out the chaos that came with the painful betrayal. Whenever he returned home it was to more work, so much that it was all he could do to steal some time to contemplate in front of Hisana's portrait.

It was during one of those times did he come upon her, standing before Hisana's altar. She must have heard the door open, must have seen the sudden illumination in the room but if she did then she made no sign of her awareness.

He soundlessly stepped in and stood by the door, waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge her presence.

She never turned around.

He studied her in silence. From behind, she greatly resembled her sister; perhaps smaller and lacked the womanly curves that graced Hisana's slender form. But no matter how small, the resemblance was _there._

"…nii-sama?"

He calmly recollected his thoughts. Rukia still didn't turn around. There was a pregnant pause as the girl tried to search for words sliding around her mind.

"…Did you love her?"

Love.

Emotion.

Not only an emotion, it was one of the most intense of all feelings. Life can't be complete without even a fleeting glimpse of its presence.

His eyes remained unmoved. "I do."

Rukia half-smiled. Nii-sama was always precise, always careful when he spoke. _I still love her_. "…Was she…happy?"

His time with her was so brief, so fleeting. She was a sakura petal floating to the ground; beautiful, fragile, bloomed and withered before his very eyes. "…I think… she did."

Rukia's smile grew wider this time and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Then that's good…isn't it? She – at the very least, you gave her a happy life, nii-sama." She laughed a little. "I don't know why; I don't remember her at all yet – I should be angry at being abandoned; should blame her for her hard life I had to lead before coming to Seireitei – yet I don't blame her what she had done. Maybe, if she didn't, she would have never met you, and she would have never been happy," She turned around and Byakuya could see she was truly smiling now, and he could see Hisana smiling at him. Hisana was always smiling that gentle smile, even as she breathed her last.

_You gave her a happy life._

Rukia bowed deeply and straightened up again. 'Thank you, nii-sama."

Long after Rukia left he stood before his wife's portrait, staring at her gentle smile. So much of her was gone, yet so much he could see in the living Rukia. Rukia was perhaps everything Hisana was not, but Byakuya could still see her there.

"Thank you, Hisana."


	2. Chapter 2 Sword Wound

Chapter 2 Sword Wounds

A/N: Hitsugaya x Hinamori. Sword wounds that don't heal.

Disclaimer: Bleach doesn't belong to me.

Sorry for any gramatical/factual errors.

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Paperwork was piling up. It had now reached to such a ridiculous height that Rangiku could no longer see her taichou's silver-white hair above the neatly stacked pile. One of it was tilted dangerously, threatening to tip over and spill to the floor.

"Ne, taichou,"

She heard him give a grunt in reply. A hand appeared above the pile. "Matsumoto, get me an ink block."

She got up from the couch and took the necessary item from the supply cupboard. She heard him grate the ink and continued writing. "…You don't have to do this, you know."

"Be quiet, Matsumoto," Came Hitsugaya's bored drawl and his arm came up again, holding out a sheaf of papers. "Make yourself useful and deliver this to the eighth division. And while you're at it, stop by the fifth and get me their training schedule, will you?"

Rangiku sighed. "You'll work yourself to death, taichou."

"And you'll be whooping for joy," Came his sarcastic reply. "No, I won't give you that satisfaction."

"You're not that charitable, I see," Rangiku took the papers and sashayed out of the office. "Want some dango?"

"No," He grunted and the mountain of paperwork receded slightly.

Rangiku finished her deliveries but stopped at the fourth division HQ. It was peaceful, the chaotic period that extended well beyond the Aizen episode finally stopped. Isane greeted her at the main hall. "Rangiku? Are you ill or something?"

"Ah, no," Rangiku laughed sheepishly. "I just came to visit Hinamori."

Oh," Isane's expression softened. "Go right ahead then. Taichou had just finished her daily checkup."

"…is she waking up?"

Isane sadly looked away. "Unohana-taichou says that's up to her… if she wants to wake up…or not."

Rangiku nodded and continued to the critical care wing. Most of the rooms were empty now, save for one. And to her surprise, Hinamori had a visitor.

Shadowed in the pale afternoon sunlight, his slight figure drooping, Hitsugaya looked old. Sadness and fatigue marred his young face, pain lurked in his eyes. Every inch of him bespoke suffering.

"…Matsumoto."

Lord, even his voice had lost his edge. How could being in the presence of Hinamori's corpse-like being change him so much? She bit her lip and took a step backwards. "I'm sorry, taichou. I didn't know…I didn't know you were here."

Hitsugaya continued to stare at Hinamori's still form. "I can still see her," he said so softly that Rangiku strained to hear. "I can still see her lying in her own blood."

"She won't wake up," He continued bitterly. "She's given up everything…she's lost hope in life. Everything she had ever believed in was a lie, everything that held her up till the end shattered when Aizen stabbed her with his blade." His fists clenched painfully. "Hinamori…"

Rangiku decided it was wise to leave her captain alone now. For all his greatness, Hitsugaya was still a child, and a child sometimes needs to cry.

Alone.

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Comments? Feel free to say anything. 


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